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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846888">(De)Toxicity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisii/pseuds/Chrisii'>Chrisii</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Feels, Bathtubs, Bromance, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Exhaustion, Feels, Fever, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's In A Dream, Nightmares, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Stitches, They deserved a reunion and a make-up scene, Toxicity, Vomit, but be careful please, it's somewhat explicit, mentions of torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:20:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisii/pseuds/Chrisii</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you doing this?” Jaskier almost dropped the leg he was lowering back into the tub, but he recovered quickly.</p><p>“Because this is what friends do.”</p><p>“I hurt you.”</p><p>“Yes, you did.” Despite the hurt, Geralt could perceive the gentleness with which the bard lowered his other leg in the water. </p><p>“So why?”</p><p>“Because I’m forgiving you, don’t make this shit harder than it already is."</p><p> </p><p>Or, Jaskier and Geralt accidentally meet after that 'incident', argue a bit more, and then make-up. Not necessarily in that order, and not as easy as it sounds. Especially not when Geralt was out of his mind with fever.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(De)Toxicity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This takes place an undetermined amount of time after 1x06 - do not read if you haven't seen the episode!</p><p>Disclaimer - I do not own The Witcher and am not making any profit from this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life as a semi-immortal seemed exciting at first.</p><p>Then days bled into months.</p><p>Months into years.</p><p>Decades.</p><p>All in solitude. A Witcher did not have many friends, not when prejudices reigned over rationality or when any attempt at friendship was poorly veiled by the fact that people were simply using him for his services before turning him away.</p><p>Nobody cared about him as long as they had a roof over their head and a bed to return to every night.</p><p>Nobody cared about the man with the yellow eyes and the petrifying strength as long as they were safe from monsters. (Well, they cared enough to show their hatred.)</p><p>Nobody cared about his hunger.</p><p>His pains and aches.</p><p>His deep desire for rest.</p><p>Taking 5 contracts in 3 days was a bit too much, even for him. But since he wasn’t sleeping, he might as well make some money.</p><p>Roach fidgeted beneath him, head turning in an attempt to nip at his fingers and make him pay attention to where he was going.</p><p>Nowhere.</p><p>He was wandering aimlessly in the woods, hoping to meet nothing and everything all at the same time. But there was nothing. Just the howl of the wind through the leaves, the scurrying of the animals as they hurried to their nests and hid from his monstrosity.</p><p>At least the stench of his blood kept most predators away; his potions tended to make it smell foul until they oozed out of his system.</p><p>Roach slowed down and stopped, and Geralt belatedly realised that she had taken him to a cosy cave tucked in a metaphorical corner. He had used this cave before to camp: it was secluded and would be a perfect place for him to rest and regain his strength.</p><p>It was an ideal place to shrug off the melancholia that had struck him deeply, making him miss the hustle and bustle of a tavern. At least in the midst of the hubbub, he could pretend that he wasn’t so lonely. He could pretend that the villagers revered him as much as they admired the character of the White Wolf in Jaskier’s ballads.</p><p>How people reacted to the real-life version of a fictional character was ironic really. Hilarious in a way that prompted anything but laughter.</p><p>He snorted quietly to himself as he carefully dismounted Roach, landing heavily on the ground. He mindlessly fed and watered her before dropping his bedding near the mouth of the cave.</p><p>(Un)surprisingly, he fell asleep instantly, uncaring of the blood and innards that still stuck to him.</p><hr/><p>Geralt woke up to the distinct feeling that he was no longer alone.</p><p>He allowed himself a brief moment to ponder on whether he had fallen asleep or actually passed out. Considering the lethargy that weighed down his limbs, he concluded that he had probably passed out due to exhaustion and/or injuries rather than fallen asleep, which meant that he had been unguarded except for his trusty horse. At least he could still hear the sounds of the forest around him, so he probably had not been unknowingly kidnapped.</p><p>Geralt remained pliant, mocking unconsciousness until he could gage his surroundings. Most of his wounds had started to heal, but the aches had settled deep in his bones and would remain for a while. No matter, he was still in a condition to defend himself.</p><p>The strumming of a <em>too</em> familiar lute met his ears.</p><p>Jaskier was supposed to be gone from his life.</p><p>Geralt regretted the harsh words that had stricken the bard so deeply after the dragon hunt, but it was still better if they stayed away from each other. At least Jaskier would have a chance of living to an old age and settling down with a family of his own. He was a loving kid; he’d have no problem finding a wife. However, apparently, he could not be rid of him.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>“You can open your eyes you know. You never grunt in your sleep.” Jaskier’s voice was low and strangely welcomed. “In fact, you sleep like the dead as far as I recall.”</p><p>“How did you find me?”</p><p>“Magic.” Sarcasm dripped off the word. “Roach found me on the road and dragged me here.” The horse neighed proudly, gently hitting his shoulder with her head before going to stand where he had left her the night before. He had forgotten to tie her.</p><p>So much for being guarded by his trusty horse.</p><p>“What have I done for you to punish me so, Roach?”</p><p>The words were empty, a vain attempt at humour and maybe a wish for the other to leave him alone; he couldn’t take the constant change between solitude and companionship. He couldn’t get used to solitude again, but companionship was too good for him. What was it with him and comparisons lately?</p><p>“Very funny. Come on, let’s go to the inn. You can actually bathe and rest in a bed, Geralt.”</p><p>Pity. That was why the bard was back. Not friendship or some search for an apology. He pitied the Witcher. Well, Geralt was too proud to accept such pity.</p><p>“I am used to sleeping on the ground.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. Those wounds need to be taken care of and you need to rest for them to heal. Besides, your pack is nearly empty. And the bath really is dire; you stink, Geralt.”</p><p>“I’m fine.” <em>Please leave</em>. He couldn’t start associating inns with Jaskier again. Not that he’d ever stopped trying to listen to the sounds of <strike>his</strike> the bard singing downstairs or snoring next to him in the room. But this would make it all too real again.</p><p>“You’re exhausted, I’ve spent enough time with you to notice when you’re burning out.”</p><p>“Jaskier.” A warning. Half-hearted.</p><p>“Geralt.” The tremor in the voice belied the stony stare that Jaskier was sending his way. He’d go easy on him for once.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Good, now eat before standing up. Don’t need you passing out. The decoctions are probably the only thing keeping you on your feet, but you’ll crash when they wear off completely.”</p><p>Geralt graced him with a grunt and stuffed the bread in his mouth, unwilling to give Jaskier the satisfaction of being right: he was starving, head rushes due to starvation didn’t escape him simply because of his mutations.</p><p>There was a water skin next to his hand the moment he finished the bread and he rinsed his mouth before standing, grateful for Roach’s close presence as he rested against her side, head lowering to nestle in her neck. Thankfully, the bard did not approach him at that moment, but rather fussed with the bedding until Geralt had hoisted himself in the saddle.</p><p>Geralt wordlessly slid backward in the saddle and helped Jaskier up as well, even if the bard was clearly unsure on whether he was ready to be so physically close to the Witcher again or not. Especially with his back to him.</p><p>Geralt did not blame him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of the bard walking to town. It was just efficiency; they’d make better time if they were both on a horse. If he found himself leaning against the bard every now and then as weariness weighed down his limbs, none of them commented. Jaskier simply reached for the reigns, gathering them into his hands and allowing the Witcher to focus solely on remaining upright. If that meant Geralt was pressing his whole upper body to him, practically using him as a pillar, he didn’t comment.</p><hr/><p>At least he remained awake up until they arrived in Jaskier’s room. (None of them said anything when Jaskier simply told the innkeeper to stop charging for Geralt’s room.) His bathtub was already filled with water and Jaskier thanked Melitele that it wasn’t winter; last thing he needed was to have to wait eternities for the water to reheat. </p><p>Geralt simply sat in front of the fire, basking in its warmth.</p><p>Jaskier tried to ignore how similar the room was to the one in which he had managed to coerce Geralt into acting as his bodyguard for a night. Come to think of it, that was one of the nights which Geralt had described as Jaskier shovelling shit in his life; not that Jaskier had anything to do with the Law of Surprise. Geralt had chosen that himself.</p><p>But none of that now.</p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>A grunt.</p><p>“Undress.”</p><hr/><p>He really didn’t have the energy to. Everything was sticking to him and the buckles of his armour were impossible to navigate at the moment. Had the design always been this complicated?</p><p>“Don’t startle, I’m going to help you.”</p><p>Jaskier had somehow managed to kneel down next to him without Geralt noticing that he had even moved from next to the bathtub.</p><p>“You won’t startle me, and I don’t need help.”</p><p>He did, but he wasn’t about to admit that.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Deft fingers slapped his away and made quick work of all the leather, gently setting the armour and weapons aside before pulling his shirt up. The bard whistled lowly at the state of Geralt’s torso; blood and bruises mottled the skin, hiding most of its actual colour. It was quite impressive: he’d gotten thrown around a bit during one of the fights. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had a sword-shaped bruise on his back from being slammed to the ground with a sheathed sword still on his back.</p><p>“Lie on the floor, I’m going to check your ribs.”</p><p>Bones cracked and Geralt grunted as he stretched out, the wood welcomingly cool against his skin. Long fingers danced on his torso, gently pressing. Geralt hissed as Jaskier put pressure on a bruise, but he was sure that nothing was damaged internally. He only had one slightly deep wound besides the bruises and it was hidden beneath a piece of cloth that Jaskier had tied a while ago. Back at the cave? The wood wasn’t much more comfortable, but he could easily nap here.</p><p>“Come on, into the bath.”</p><p>“Later.”</p><p>He didn’t think he could actually master the act of wiping himself down at the moment.</p><p>“You’re tired because you lost a lot of blood, Geralt. We need to get you clean so that I can stitch your wound.”</p><p>A grunt.</p><p>“Come on, Geralt.”</p><hr/><p>Yennefer had stressed the fact that a cold, numbing temperature aided his body in processing the many elixirs he drank. At the moment, he didn’t care. The warm water felt heavenly on his skin as Jaskier sponged him down before subtly helping him to get in the spacious tub for a soak. Geralt lowered most of himself in the water, feeling his muscles unclench in response to the temperature and leaving his limbs feeling light and loose. Unconsciously, he chased the euphoric sensation of utter relaxation even as a soft cloth moved gingerly across his skin, lingering caringly on his bruises in an attempt to mitigate the pain. </p><p>Jaskier coaxed his feet out of the water, rubbing his sole surely and efficiently until the soreness ebbed away. He’d missed Jaskier’s ministrations. He didn’t believe that the salts that the bard insisted on dropping in the water had any effects aside from their somewhat pleasant smell, but Jaskier’s fingers were talented and sure, easing his discomforts without having to be asked.  </p><p>Which begged the question that shattered the somewhat comfortable silence between them.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Jaskier almost dropped the leg he was lowering back into the tub, but he recovered quickly.</p><p>“Because this is what friends do.”</p><p>“I hurt you.”</p><p>“Yes, you did.” Despite the hurt, Geralt could perceive the gentleness with which the bard lowered his other leg in the water.</p><p>“So why?”</p><p>“Because I’m forgiving you, don’t make this shit harder than it already is.” The fingers tightened around the cloth – Geralt could see the white knuckles and the veins straining against the skin, accompanied by a jump in Jaskier’s heartbeat.</p><p>“I didn’t force you to come back. You can leave.”</p><p>It would be better if he did; that way, no one would get to him in an attempt to get to Geralt. Besides, it didn’t make sense: Who would want to spend their days with a monster and a murderer? Everyone saw him as such, Jaskier simply used that to his advantage.</p><p>“Your horse wouldn’t take no for an answer.” An attempt at levity. Failed.</p><p>“I can take care of myself.” Blunt nails dug into his shoulders as Jaskier moved behind him, focusing intently on washing his back. If he was taking the time to sooth knotted muscles, Geralt wasn’t exactly complaining. He wisely didn’t comment when the bard’s fingers slipped and accidentally smacked him right in the deepest of bruises.</p><p>Jaskier’s fingers <em>slipped</em> at least three times. “Yeah, that was going swimmingly.”</p><p>“I’ve been doing it since before you were born, Jaskier, don’t flatter yourself.” Being taken care of was nice, but Geralt was not about to admit that. He knew he didn’t really have to. It was the reason why Jaskier took so much pleasure in doing this. Today was different. Jaskier was doing this because he was too good, but emotional turmoil was still rolling off of him in waves, intertwining with his own and settling heavily in his gut. </p><p>“You need stitches for your wound.”</p><p>“It’ll heal.”</p><p>They always did. He didn’t.</p><p>“Bend forwards.”</p><p>“What?” A hand pushed insistently at the back of his head.</p><p>“I need to wet your hair to wash it; lean forwards.” The bucket was dumped unceremoniously over his head, soaking his hair and making him splutter as some of the water got in his mouth.</p><p>Jaskier silently pulled him backwards, easing him against the edge of the tub before lathering his hair, gentle fingers carding through the white strands and undoing the knots one by one. The sensation had Geralt’s eyes closing as waves of numbing relaxation flooded his nerves, warding off the approaching headache far faster than any potion could.</p><p>Well, since the headache and nausea were the result of his potions, it was not probable that taking others would be helpful.</p><p>He could feel Jaskier’s fingers, slightly calloused due to the strings, coaxing the blood from his hair before gentle pressure had him leaning forward again as water was poured over his head. Geralt mastered enough energy to sink below the water, allowing the bard to wash out all the suds and squeeze out the excess water.</p><p>The cloth scrubbed at his shoulders again, eased over his wound, and then dabbed at his face. It was a routine that they were both used to, but this time Geralt pushed the bard away as he stood up to dry himself off and pull on a pair of loose trousers.  </p><p>Struggling into his shirt required too much energy and effort when the bed was screaming at him to collapse in it. However, an insistent bard pushed him to lie down on the table first, saying something about not staining the sheets. It was at that moment that Geralt noticed the fresh blood that was cascading over his chest, tracing morbid patterns over his gut. Huh. The water must have reopened the wound.</p><p>Jaskier wiped the blood off before it could stain Geralt’s pants and gently propelled him towards the table again, where Geralt obediently lied down and angled his head backwards to allow the bard easy access.</p><p>Anything to get to bed quicker. Was he always this tired after a fight?</p><hr/><p>Jaskier’s breath momentarily stilled in his chest when Geralt freely exposed his throat. Either the Witcher was utterly exhausted, or he had never stopped trusting Jaskier. Or a combination of both – after all, the bard had never betrayed his trust. Tension was still blatantly evident in Geralt’s limbs, but Geralt didn’t even relax in his sleep, let alone when he was about to be medically attended to.</p><p>Jaskier knew that he hated medical attention with a passion, but he had always allowed Jaskier to do as he pleased (and as was necessary).</p><p>There was no reason for Geralt to be completely relaxed now: their friendship was still strained and despite Jaskier attempting to go on as if nothing had happened, Geralt was evidently sitting on a bucket of undealt with emotions that churned inside him and made him even grumpier and snappier than usual.</p><p>There were a few new scars since the last time he had seen Geralt shirtless. Huh. He hoped that Geralt would indulge him with those stories.</p><p>There was nothing he could do for the bruises; they’d heal on their own and he didn’t have anything to relieve the pain. However, he could do something about the wound that was still weeping blood over Geralt’s collar bone.</p><p>Jaskier shuddered to think of the consequences had the blade been a few inches higher. Well, Jaskier would probably be sleeping comfortably, not taking care of a grumpy Witcher who wasn’t the least grateful for the help.</p><p>Not that Jaskier minded. He’d learned to read the tiny signs of trust and affection that Geralt offered, be it small jokes or amused grunts or even tiny smiles. This time, the huge sign of trust was Geralt exposing his throat so vulnerably without having to be asked to. Jaskier would have been able to work around the Witcher’s chin, but the action was greatly appreciated and a poignant display of how worn down Geralt’s defences were – he was simply operating on instinct and trusting that Jaskier was still a helpful friend, rather than yet another foe. </p><p>In other words, Jaskier couldn’t afford to lose himself in his thoughts, or make a mistake, because it would take less than a second for Geralt’s defensive instincts to come out. Jaskier doubted whether Geralt could muster enough energy to attack a kitten, but adrenaline was a funny thing.  </p><p>“Geralt? I’m just going to stitch this so you won’t bleed out, okay?” He dabbed the wound with a cloth and Geralt released a hissing breath as his shoulder jerked, instinct making him want to curl into himself even as he evidently forced himself to remain on his back. “Don’t worry, I’m only inserting a needle, not a sword or anything. I’m afraid this will scar - never was good at stitching, but at least I’ll have something to write another song.”</p><p>Geralt grunted as the needle pierced his damaged flesh over and over, eyes falling closed (and rolling backwards) even as his muscles spasmed every now and then, rejecting his tension and instinctively seeking a reprieve from the pain.</p><p>“You’re always so stingy with the details, as if I’m exposing something secret by being inspired by your tales. Many of my ballads served to change how people perceived Witchers, you know.”</p><p>Geralt’s arm jerked and his ankle scraped against the table as the needle almost hit the collar bone: Jaskier grimaced at the wound’s depth, but he couldn’t afford to be skittish now.</p><p>He hadn’t even thought of offering some painkillers, but he didn’t understand Geralt’s potions and he didn’t want to lead to an accidental overdose, so he remained quiet. Geralt could ask for them if he needed them.</p><p>The heavy swallow, causing Geralt’s Adam’s apple to bob quite noticeably, told Jaskier that Geralt was not going to ask. He wasn’t going to offer.</p><p>“You’re an asshole, you know. Anyone would simply leave you in the mud after what you did – your words were quite rude. And somehow, I’m not angry about the fact that you will never apologise. You did it because you were hurt, even if that doesn’t give you the right to lash out at anybody in the vicinity.”</p><p>Jaskier tied off the thread, pushed Geralt into a sitting position, and efficiently wrapped a bandage from shoulder to opposing armpit in an effort to cover the wound. It worked, and he smiled proudly even if <strike>piercing</strike> exhausted yellow eyes glared at him.</p><p>Jaskier knew that Geralt was digesting every word he had just said, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of guiding every conversation. Call him petty, but he was still hurt by Geralt’s accusations; he had done his utmost to be a good friend and he had not deserved such a beat down simply because Geralt was angry at the world.</p><p>He guided Geralt to the bed, allowing him to sit on the side before towelling his hair dry. Geralt grunted at the rough treatment but remained steadfastly silent, his gaze staring aimlessly at some point behind the bard. The comb passed easily through the clean strands and Jaskier left the strands loose as he manipulated the Witcher into a reclining position.</p><p>Geralt didn’t need much persuading. His eyes rolled back the moment he hit the pillow and Jaskier gently pushed the blankets on him, leaving him to rest.</p><hr/><p>Dragon fire surrounded him, seemingly burning right through him without causing any actual damage. The trees around him had a different fate. Near his feet, there were formless objects, utterly ruined by the fire. Not formless. Humans. </p><p>Yennefer.</p><p>Vesemir.</p><p>Renfri.</p><p>His mother.</p><p>A child – unrecognizable with how much of its skin was charred. Himself? He didn’t remember himself so tiny. Ciri had been that tiny when he first found her in Brokilon forest though.</p><p>Jaskier.</p><p>The bard wasn’t that charred, but his throat was completely destroyed – a torturous death at its best, revealing that this was neither an accidental fire nor the result of a beast.</p><p>Well, not a conventional beast.</p><p>The attacker was human. A vile human, but human nonetheless. Geralt was certain that underneath all the burns, Jaskier’s body was coloured with the varying shades of bruises – old, new, never healing.</p><p>The general consensus was that Witchers did not feel, so what was it that wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing so tight that it felt as if the smoke that had ruined their lungs was suddenly entrapped in his, annihilating anything resembling air and driving him to his death?</p><p>Death wasn’t that easy.</p><p>He had survived alone on the path until Jaskier came along.</p><p>Jaskier, who had made him realise that his solitude was not as enjoyable as he had forced himself to believe.</p><p>Now, he didn’t have a choice but to return to that solitude.</p><p>They were all gone.</p><p>Followed him until their death.</p><p>Maybe the villagers were right. He really was a butcher: Death dogged his footsteps, but it never came for him. Only for the others. Flowers withered just before they bloomed, gooseberries rotted, and mothers hid their children from the child who was abandoned by his own family.</p><p>An abomination.</p><p>He was the one who should have been lying there, not them.</p><p>The smoke clogged up his throat and he coughed, attempting to clear it. What was the point? Still, his body attempted to purge the toxin even when the smoke clung to his face, unwilling to let a victim escape.</p><p>He didn’t have much energy left to fight it.</p><p>Or motivation.</p><hr/><p>The black veins were losing their vividness as the potions were off, fading into an off putting, blotchy greyness. The wyvern that had been plaguing the village had been particularly savage, and it was evident that the Witcher had had some difficulty with bringing it down – Melitele knew how many elixirs were swimming in Geralt’s system.</p><p>He’d managed, as always, but at what cost?</p><p>No, Jaskier wouldn’t let himself go back to that toxic friendship. He couldn’t.</p><p>It wasn’t fair on him.</p><p>Geralt huffed and shifted, limbs jerking beneath the thin sheet and seemingly unable to find a comfortable position. Jaskier knew that it was just the potions making Geralt over-sensitive, but he’d rarely seen it this bad. Geralt usually remained meditating until the worst effects wore off, attempting to shield him from at least one kind of monstrosity.</p><p>Not that Jaskier could ever refer to Geralt as monstrous. Not even after what had happened. Nothing could make him speak the words that Geralt harboured in his heart, seemingly brushing them off even if they were carved into his very core.</p><p>Another heavy sigh broke through the silence and Jaskier couldn’t help his frown. It wasn’t just sensitiveness making Geralt jittery; the old man was having a nightmare. A very vivid one at that. Too pale lips opened and closed, a semblance of a groan visibly dying in his throat. If that wasn’t enough of a hint, the roving eyes beneath the closed lids were enough to confirm his suspicions.</p><p>Jaskier dipped the cloth in the remaining bucket of clean water before gingerly wiping the sweat away from Geralt’s face, steadfastly ignoring how Geralt leaned towards the tender touch.</p><p>Geralt’s lips parted again, letting loose a stream of muted words. Jaskier eased the cloth across the chapped lips before gently tipping a glass of water in his mouth.</p><p>He did not expect Geralt to choke. The cough that escaped him was ugly and dog-like and Jaskier very nearly dropped the glass in his haste to turn Geralt on his side.</p><p>The water dribbled from the side of Geralt’s mouth to the floor and Jaskier made sure that he was not in danger of killing the Witcher (with water, of all things), before turning him on his back again.</p><p>Geralt seemingly settled, but there was no mistaking the sheen of sweat on his brow or the fact that his sleep was fitful at best despite the nightmare having (seemingly) dissipated.</p><hr/><p>Something was wrong.</p><p>Despite Geralt’s veins having lost their blackness, thus becoming invisible to the naked eye once again, his skin was still leeched of the tiny amount of colour that distinguished him from a corpse. The white strand of hair that stuck to his forehead was darker than his skin, accentuating how pallid he looked.</p><p>In other words, the potions and decoctions had somehow not been metabolized yet. </p><p>His breathing was easier, deeper, but as Jaskier brushed the hair away from Geralt’s forehead, he realised that the Witcher was positively burning. Was it possible for Witchers to get sick as they got old? The wound wasn’t infected.</p><p>He couldn’t exactly ask Geralt – his consciousness was fleeting at best and downright non-existent at worst.</p><p>Think, Jaskier.</p><p>A fever usually meant that the body was trying to fight off something alien, like an infection. Okay, so this fever was trying to get rid of something else. Maybe the wound had been poisoned? As far as he remembered, wyverns weren’t poisonous.</p><p>Poison.</p><p>Potions.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Geralt’s choice of potions were probably interacting with one another, denying each other the chance to purge themselves from his bloodstream. Geralt had told him what to do lest this ever happen.</p><p>It shouldn’t happen, he had said, because mixing particular potions together is borderline suicidal in his line of work.</p><p>Accidents happen.</p><p>It was just an accident.</p><p>Or destiny’s fucked up way of bringing them together again.</p><p>What had Geralt told him?</p><p>There was a particular potion that could combat the toxicity; one that would (ironically, if Jaskier could say so himself,) aid his system in purging the poisonous substances. White Honey! It was a rectangular vial, different from the rest so that it would always be recognizable.</p><p>At least, it had been a rectangular vial when Jaskier was travelling with him. Jaskier hoped it still was. He pulled the sheet up, covering Geralt’s chest with it and making sure that the Witcher was somewhat settled before leaving the room, praying that Geralt would not wake up and think that Jaskier had abandoned him. [The Witcher was supposedly used to waking up alone, why should Jaskier worry about that? After all, Geralt always claimed that he hated Jaskier’s fussing. (Jaskier knew that the Witcher would never admit the truth.)]</p><p>The stable door creaked noisily, alerting all the horses that there was an intruder. Roach nickered softly, butting her nose against his chest in recognition – he hadn’t changed her yet. He ought to give her some food – the mare deserved some love. Geralt poured all of his love on her, but she could still use some sugar cubes as a treat for keeping up with the Witcher at his worst.</p><p>He absentmindedly petted her as he undid the buckles, ridding the mare of the saddle’s cumbersome weight. She huffed, gently nuzzling his neck in gratitude. He moved to brush her but she swatted him with her tail, dancing away from his ministrations and propelling him towards the door.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>Self-sacrificing idiot like her owner. </p><p>Well, she wasn’t an idiot.</p><p>“Fine, fine. I’ll go make sure he doesn’t die on us.” Jaskier pet her nose, shooting her a small smile before slipping through the door again.</p><p>Miraculously, he did not drop any of the three bags until he got in the room. There, he let everything crash (gently) to the floor before he started to rummage through them, quickly identifying the potion-pack and taking out numerous vials before his fingers closed around a rectangular vial. Bless Geralt’s meticulous packing.</p><p>“Okay Geralt, you better not choke on this one.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t answer, not that Jaskier expected him to. Gently bracing the bottom of Geralt’s skull, Jaskier made sure to tip Geralt’s head back before dipping the vial’s content in the lax mouth. The sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing was enough to prompt a small sigh of relief, even if sweat-soaked hair attempted to restrain his fingers.</p><p>Now all Jaskier had to do was wait until Geralt’s innards returned to normal. Well, as normal as they could get.</p><hr/><p>He couldn’t move.</p><p>They were torturing Ciri right in front of him and he couldn’t move.</p><p>It had been Yennefer, at first. He laid helpless while they gouged out her eyes. Soon after, they chopped off her hands because she had been attempting to spell them even though she had been blinded, both literally and with the pain. She bled out shortly after and her corpse was tossed to the side – if he tried hard enough, he could still spot it in his peripheral vision. He didn’t need to see her agony – her contorted face was seared to the back of his eyelids, forever haunting him even in unconsciousness.</p><p>Then destiny decided to intervene and the child was in front of him. A blurred image, indistinguishable.</p><p>Her pain was as vivid as it came.</p><p>He spat out the blood that was spilling from a broken tooth. He ended up swallowing some of it, but he wouldn’t let his discomfort show. Not when they were deriving some sick pleasure from caressing her skin before marking her. Bruises, bites, smacks. One of them even took out a whip at some point.  </p><p>He blinked and suddenly it was Jaskier there, rope tight around his neck. It wasn’t tight enough to strangle him, only to permanently ruin his vocal cords. His fingers were being broken one by one. The bard was beyond the point of screaming. His mouth hung open in an unbroken, silent expression of pain, but there was no movement except for unconscious flinching.</p><p>Some of his nails were missing and blood dripped to the ground. Drop by drop. The puddle rippled with the life source, but its owner was already being embraced by death’s throes.</p><p>Another bone cracked. He could hear ligaments and nerves tearing apart, hanging on only by a thread. The muscle had long since given up.</p><p>Seeing the limp, disformed skin as the bones were pulled apart from each other was enough for his normally formidable stomach to revolt.</p><hr/><p>Half an hour later, Geralt jerked, sputtered, and started heaving.</p><p>Jaskier barely managed to put down his lute (gently, of course) before turning Geralt over on his side, making sure that the majority of the vomit fell in an empty bucket and not on the floor. Not that most of it was food.</p><p>No wonder his system was struggling so much. Did potions work like alcohol when taken on an empty stomach? Jaskier frowned as Geralt dry heaved, a sound of abject misery slipping from his throat as he curled around his stomach.</p><p>He looked small on the bed.</p><p>Jaskier never thought he’d attribute the word ‘small’ to Geralt, but there was no other way to describe the Witcher’s futile attempts of eating his knees. Geralt’s shivering shook him out of his stupor. The skin beneath his hands was absolutely boiling. If the toxicity was not going to kill him, the fever surely would.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Despite loathing the very idea of leaving him alone, Jaskier had no choice but to run down to the tavern to ask for two more buckets of water. Serving the Witcher with a very necessary ice-bath would probably cost him a night singing for free, but he didn’t have the time to complain nor bargain for a better price.</p><p>When he returned to the room, Geralt was still curled around his tummy like a young child who had eaten too much sugar because he didn’t think he’d have so much candy again in his lifetime. And he was completely still. Shit.</p><p>Jaskier almost stumbled in his own boots in his haste to get to the Witcher’s side, and the anxiety only skyrocketed when he placed a hand on Geralt’s chest. The heart was rabbiting beneath his palm even by human standards, let alone by Witcher ones. However, it was evidently weakening as his body slowly succumbed to the temperature.</p><p>“You’re not going to leave me like this, not after everything you did.” Jaskier growled, grabbing one of Geralt’s arms and pulling it over his shoulder. The sudden dead weight threatened to make the both of them acquaintances with the floor, but Jaskier persevered and Geralt roused enough to get his feet underneath him, blindly shuffling towards the direction that Jaskier led him. His eyes, looking like molten gold in the warm light of the fire, fluttered in shock as he was lowered into the empty bath.</p><p>A small dagger cut smoothly through the bandages.</p><p>Jaskier grabbed the remaining bucket of water and dumped it in the bath, not allowing himself to wince when Geralt startled so bad that his head thudded dully against the edge of the bath. He grabbed the cloth and wiped the meagre amount of water over Geralt’s chest, sighing in relief when there was a knock on the door.</p><hr/><p>Geralt’s reaction to two more buckets of water being dumped over him was a harsh bout of shivering, hard enough to rattle his teeth. Then, he became utterly still. The tiniest sliver of gold beneath mostly closed lids immediately relaxed Jaskier – usually, that meant that Geralt had slipped into a half-meditative state in order to recuperate.</p><p>It was normal.</p><p>“Thanks, Jask.”</p><p>Abnormal.</p><p>The words were mumbled, barely heard over the splashes of water as Jaskier ran the cloth over Geralt’s face and chest, carefully avoiding the stitches.</p><p>“If it had been anyone else, they would have left you bleeding out in that cave.”</p><p>Jaskier pressed the edge of a glass against Geralt’s lips, inviting him to drink a few mouthfuls. For a second, it seemed as if Geralt wasn’t going to say anything. He swallowed, licked his lips, and just as Jaskier passed the cloth over his chest once more, spoke.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>The heart beneath the cloth thudded against Jaskier’s palm just as his own heart skipped a beat.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Not a very eloquent reaction, but he’d give away his nervousness if he started to babble. That being said, Geralt probably already knew that Jaskier was nervous – the bastard could probably smell it.</p><p>“I don’t want to get rid of you. I did, in the beginning, but you became good company.” Jaskier couldn’t decide whether Geralt’s grimace was due to him suddenly feeling all the aches in his body or if he was simply realizing just how bad his sentiments were being phrased.</p><p>“<em>Good company</em>? I’m sorry, Geralt, but that won’t replace the fact that you wanted me off your hands. Do you simply miss having someone to yell at when you’re angry? Roach isn’t cutting it for your hums and grunts of protest anymore?”</p><p>The cloth snagged against one of the stitches but apart from wincing, Geralt didn’t say anything. His skin was already cooling off, leaving behind the general tiredness that usually accompanied a fever. Jaskier was well-acquainted with Geralt’s fidgetiness when he started to tire, but for once, he wanted to be selfish – he needed to get this off his chest.</p><p>“I never wanted you off my hands, Jask.” If it were under any other circumstance, Jaskier would be proud of the fact that he was making Geralt’s teeth audibly grit against each other.</p><p>“Then you shouldn’t have said so.” Despite his harsh tone, Jaskier was gentle as he poured some of the water on Geralt’s head and combed through the knotted strands.</p><p>“I know, misspeaking is generally why people apologise.” Geralt attempted to face Jaskier, but the bard easily prohibited him from doing so by resting Geralt’s head against his stomach –the Witcher did not need to see the tiny smile that tugged at Jaskier’s lips.</p><p>(He knew that it was a matter of Geralt <em>letting</em> him restrain his head, rather than Jaskier managing on his own.)</p><p>“On the contrary, dear Witcher, people apologise for a number of things.” Jaskier circled the bath, prompting Geralt to stand up with just a tap to his elbow. Geralt obliged, allowing Jaskier to pat his back dry before snatching the towel to continue himself. It was a routine they were well used to, especially when Geralt had injured anywhere near his chest or arms.</p><p>In other words, after most hunts.  </p><p>As usual, the response to his wit was a grunt – one of approval at least.</p><p>“When did you last sleep?” The question caught Jaskier in the middle of a yawn and he frowned.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s a pretty straightforward question, Jaskier.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, reaching out a hand to steady him when the bard nearly stumbled on his way to his lute.</p><p>“I was a bit busy trying to wake you up from your nightmares,” was the reply that escaped from his mouth. He grimaced when he caught the flash of guilt across Geralt’s features. “And keeping down your fever – it got pretty bad at times.”</p><p>“I overdosed. You remembered the White Honey?” Geralt was pushing him to the bed while he spoke, and Jaskier couldn’t find it in himself to argue against it. Now that he was sure that Geralt was going to be fine, exhaustion was catching up with him.</p><p>“I don’t think you’d be on your feet if I didn’t.” Jaskier snapped at the useless question (and the doubt in his capabilities.) “Pretty handy to have me with you, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Not just for that.” The murmured response was so low that Jaskier thought he had imagined it. However, it seemed as if Geralt was more tender than usual as he tucked him in the bed and fleetingly squeezed his hand, fingers hovering for a second over his nails and forearm before retreating.</p><p>It was a lot of touches for the Witcher, but Jaskier appreciated them nonetheless.</p><p>He fell asleep to Geralt’s weighty stare on his neck, observing the jump of his carotid artery. He didn’t remember Geralt stepping away from the bed.</p><hr/><p>He woke up the next morning to the sun in his face. Geralt always forgot to close the curtains.</p><p>Geralt.</p><p>The room was as empty as when Jaskier had first stepped into it.</p><p>The Witcher was gone.</p><p>Jaskier threw aside the covers and searched for his doublet, belatedly realising that Geralt’s potion pack was still there. Huh.</p><p>Melitele’s tits, Jaskier needed breakfast. There was coin for it on the nightstand and Jaskier couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Geralt’s (not so) subtle overcompensation. Well, Jaskier was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it filled his belly.</p><p>“I expect your service tonight, bard.” The innkeeper casually commanded as he dumped a plate in front of him. It was generously filled, at least.</p><p>“Yes, I keep my word. Did you happen to see my friend?”</p><p>“He’s in the stables; hopefully he’ll leave soon.” The innkeeper’s disgust was not even marginally disguised, and Jaskier’s eyebrow twitched at the hatred that dripped off the words. Honestly, how did people revere the ballads of the White Wolf and hate the person in real life? It was a question that Geralt had told him, numerous times, to stop trying to answer in a complex manner. The answer was simple – Witchers were too different to be liked. They were monsters, machines, there to get rid of a problem and then be gone again. It was racism in its purest form.</p><p>“He’ll leave when I do.”</p><p>Jaskier didn’t even bother waiting for an answer, but he was secretly proud of the gobsmacked look on the innkeeper’s face as he went out, inhaling the fresh air of the street before turning towards the stables.</p><p>Geralt was brushing down Roach, murmuring something in her ear that was too low for Jaskier to hear. He didn’t stop from what he was doing, but his head cocking to the side easily told Jaskier that Geralt knew he was there. Well, the Witcher had probably heard Jaskier leaving the inn. He ought to ask Geralt about the range of his hearing… but not now.</p><p>“I thought you left.”</p><p>“My pack is still in the room.” Geralt’s shoulder tightened minutely, but he simply continued to brush Roach.</p><p>“You weren’t.”</p><p>“Roach needed cleaning.”</p><p>“That’s horseshit and you know it.” Jaskier leaned against the doorframe, ensuring that nobody would disturb them. He raised his eyebrow when Geralt glanced at him over his shoulder, a glitter of gold momentarily visible before Geralt turned back to Roach.</p><p>“Jaskier-”</p><p>“No, you don’t get to wave this aside.”</p><p>Geralt turned, his slumped shoulders knocking with Roach’s. The horse glanced curiously at Jaskier, pointedly looking at his empty pockets before dunking her head in the stack of hay in front of her.</p><p>“I remember that we talked, Jask, I wasn’t <em>that</em> delirious.”</p><p>“You were when I said my piece.” Jaskier grimaced at the memory of Geralt’s blood spilling over his fingers, but he brushed the thought away before Geralt could pick up on his agitation.</p><p>“I lashed out at you and that wasn’t right even if I was angry. I heard you.” Geralt’s usually soothing baritone had deepened, as it usually did when he wanted to enforce a point. However, his eyes remained resolutely set on Jaskier’s shoulder, not his face.</p><p>“Yeah, but did you listen? Because I am not going to let you drag me around like some miserable wench again. I do not deserve that, no matter how dear our friendship is to me.” Jaskier stooped, meeting Geralt’s eyes and forcing the Witcher to hold his gaze even as he stepped forward, effectively trapping Geralt between himself and Roach.</p><p>“If I make you a miserable wench, then you ought to stay away from me. It’s probably for the best – I poison everything I touch.” Geralt shrugged nonchalantly, but Jaskier’s brows furrowed when he saw the age-old pain back in the golden eyes.</p><p>This pain was something that Jaskier could never hope to ease – Geralt had absorbed too many insults over the years, and those that most contradicted his character were engraved in his heart. It was a battle fought bravely, but still in vain. Something must have betrayed his thoughts because Geralt turned to Roach again, soothingly brushing her mane and neck.</p><p>“Self-pity was never a good look on you, Geralt. Besides, you know that I won’t leave you to mellow alone just because you’re sprouting such nonsensical statements. If you actually wanted to be alone, you’d have left before dawn.” Jaskier knew he was right; Geralt was not one to be encumbered by farewells.</p><p>Geralt wisely didn’t respond: He just let out a thoughtful hum and brushed Roach’s neck for the fifth time.</p><p>“For Melitele’s sake, Geralt. Look at me.” Geralt turned, simultaneously throwing the brush into a nearby bucket.</p><p>Cat-like eyes caught Jaskier’s gaze, molten gold reflecting oddly in the sunlight. The shutter that usually concealed most of the Witcher’s emotions had been partially destroyed by the fever.</p><p>“On that mountain, you said I only shovel shit in your life. Why?” Jaskier questioned, making sure that there was nothing threatening about his demeanour. Whenever the conversation breeched an emotional topic, Geralt shrunk into himself, seemingly forgetting that Jaskier could never hope to restrain him if Geralt genuinely wanted to walk out. Not that Jaskier would ever try.</p><p>
  <em>[One time, during such a conversation, Jaskier had suddenly swatted a mosquito. Geralt made it halfway to the door in the space of a blink, a look of utmost horror washing over his features before it melted away to be replaced by his usual stoic mask. Jaskier had learnt to approach such topics with a bit of tack.]</em>
</p><p>“Because you remind me of what it’s like to have a normal life: to have a friend,” Geralt cleared his throat, “to not be alone. But you’ll leave one day, so I thought it would be better if I left first. If our friendship was ruined, then I’ll remember the bad instances, not the good ones.” Jaskier knew that it was physiologically impossible for Geralt to cry, but the miniscule twitching of his facial muscles conveyed the fact that had he been able to, he would be close to actually doing so.</p><p>“I won’t leave you unless you ask me too.”</p><p>“You’ll die.”</p><p>“Death comes for everybody, including you. My death will not be on you, so why would you want to lose over a decade of friendship?”</p><p>“You’ll probably die because of me, Jask.”</p><p>“You’re not forcing me to follow you. It’s <em>my</em> choice.”</p><p>“Jaskier, this is no life for a bard.” A years-old excuse that Jaskier could easily rebuke. He moved closer to the Witcher, making sure that the other man would not ignore him.</p><p>“Not for a typical bard, no. I can always compose stereotypical songs in a cosy inn. But a life of solitude isn’t a life for anyone, Geralt.”</p><p>“I don’t need your pity, bard.” Anger and frustration subtly fought for dominance in the barked words, but Jaskier did not care. He was sick of this self-loathing.</p><p>“Then take my <em>friendship</em>, Geralt! I travel with you because I like it. I like your companionship despite having to get used to your different moods, and I’d like to think that I got better at reading all of your different hums. Besides, my White Wolf repertoire needs a new song – I can’t exactly do that without the source of inspiration.”</p><p>A disgruntled hum met his attempt at levity.</p><p>“Right, songs aside. If you don’t want me travelling with you, that’s all well and good. But don’t push me away with some idiotic excuse like wanting to get used to my absence before I die.” Jaskier rolled his shoulders back, attempting to make his glare as steely as possible.</p><p>Maybe it would penetrate the Witcher’s brain.</p><p>Something in Geralt’s face softened and Jaskier caught a barely perceptible nod before Geralt sank onto a nearby stool. He was still evidently weakened by the ordeal even if the toxicity in his blood was within acceptable levels again. The fact that he was still recovering might have influenced him into accepting Jaskier’s proposal to travel together again, but Jaskier didn’t want to read too much into it – was that relief on his face?</p><p>“Go get some sleep or meditate. I have to perform tonight; I’ll manage to pack everything by tomorrow morning.” Geralt took an awkward step forward, uncharacteristically rocking back on his heels before one of his arms circled Jaskier’s shoulders for the briefest of seconds. Jaskier didn’t even have the chance to embrace him in return before the door to the stables closed behind him.</p><p>He pretended not to notice a remarkably Geralt-shaped silhouette in the corner booth as he serenaded those at the inn.</p><hr/><p>They set out the day after; Jaskier feeding Roach sugar cubes while Geralt picked a direction. Once the sugar cubes were over and they were far enough from society, the mindless strumming of the lute filled the silence around them.</p><p>Geralt would not have it any other way, but he still told the bard to shut up.</p><p>If his tone was gentler than usual, well, nobody ought to notice out here.</p><p>Jaskier did.</p><p>And commented.</p><p>And continued to sing as if he wasn’t walking alongside a cold-blooded murderer.</p><p>He wasn’t.</p><p>He was simply walking beside a companion. An equal.</p><p>A friend.</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys! It's been almost a year - I am so sorry for dropping off the grid. University was already pushing me in a corner, and then Corona happened and anxiety got the best of my muse - I have been working on this since January and it is finally fully edited!</p><p>I dearly hope that you enjoyed it and feel free to leave your thoughts below! Which were your favourite parts? Where there parts you disliked? Open to any and all criticism!</p><p>That being said, I hope that all of you are safe and well.<br/>[NB.: This story had a much more depressive ending, but given the current global situation, I do believe that a happy ending was kind of necessary XD]</p><p>Kudos,<br/>Chrisii</p></blockquote></div></div>
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